


Untouchable for Life

by Sintari (OriginalSintari)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bad Dirty Talk, Cam Modeling, Creepy Internet Jerks, Dirty Talk, Jess was good for Sam dammit, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Pining, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 01, Sex Work, Sex Worker Sam Winchester, Stanford Era (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24590929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalSintari/pseuds/Sintari
Summary: When Stanford student Sam is desperate for rent money, his girlfriend Jess suggests he turn to camming. As his uneasy relationship with sex work progresses, Sam's "Top Fan," the lurker Impala67, leaves him conflicted.... and something else.Written forWincest Reverse Bang 2020.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Comments: 47
Kudos: 161
Collections: Wincest Reverse Bang





	Untouchable for Life

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [ Wincest Reverse Bang 2020](https://wincest-reverse.livejournal.com/) and AngelTortured's delicious prompt "Sam is having a hard time paying for student items. His girlfriend Jess suggests he tries camming. Sam starts finding regular users, one Impala67, spends the most on him. Sam imagines it to be his brother Dean, which gets him off on camera fast." 
> 
> The title is from _[I Turn My Camera On](https://open.spotify.com/track/1zyQWymDQATRbkpWbYvU20?si=VGPYAepKRW69QTaO583IFQ)_ by Spoon because c'mon, I had to.
> 
> Thank you, as always to my beta and dear friend [Ratflavored](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatFlavored/pseuds/RatFlavored) for putting up with my nonsense. Go read their stuff!
> 
> Art credit goes to the multitalented AngelTortured. [Follow them on Twitter!](https://twitter.com/angeltortured?s=09)

Sam is tired. Like the bone-tired you feel when you’re swimming, the shore is in sight, but it’s still really, really far away. For Sam, shore is his diploma, respectability, or – as his brother would call it – “the apple pie life.”

But to achieve that he needs 79 more college credits, and to pay Jess back for the two months of their rent, on which he is woefully behind.

So, he inhales another gulp of coffee, and pulls on his Albertsons smock, casting one last longing look at their bed. “When do I get to spend time in you again?”

Talking to inanimate objects, even in his mind, means he’s definitely overdue for sleep. He tallies up his schedule. Overnight shift unloading a truck and restocking groceries. Constitutional Law midterm at 9am. Then twelve to eight at the coffee shop, where if he can keep the smile on his face the tip share might cover about an eighth of the money he still needs.

Shore is in sight. Sam just suspects the riptide might pull him under first.

He hears Jess’s key rattle in the door just as he’s slipping his wallet into his back pocket.

“Honey, I’m home,” she jokes. But as he steps out of the bedroom to meet her, her mouth tenses up into a frown.

“You look like death warmed over.”

“Nice to see you, too.” He tries to pass it off as teasing, but hears his own voice fall flat. Never mind when he can sleep next. When’s the _last_ time he slept? It doesn’t bear thinking about.

“Honey,” Jess drops her bookbag and fists her hands into the pocket of his smock. “You can’t keep going like this. Something’s gotta give.”

“I know. I just- I was running the numbers and this is what it takes. I’m not-“ his head is swimmier than it should be for this conversation. “I’m not letting my girlfriend pay my rent. Makes me feel like a gigolo.”

“You know, it’s a thought,” Jess says suddenly.

For some reason, his brother crosses his mind when he says that. How often had Dean joked about the only way he’d ever leave the hunting life was to spend his nights pleasing women for money? He tries not to think about Dean. His stupid jokes, his blind loyalty. But on days like this, when he’s tired like this, Dean slips through. But wait…

“What’s a thought?”

Jess threads her fingers through his, smacks her lips in a way that he has come to know means she’s about to pose something a little offbeat. Last time it was the strap-on, and while she had been right about how much Sam liked that particular activity, he’d still needed persuading to come around.

“There’s a way you could make money,” Jess continues. “More money in a couple of hours than you make all week.”

“I’m not selling Adderall like your friend Lee,” Sam half jokes.

“No, it’s not even illegal.” Jess plays with his fingers, as if deciding if she wants to keep talking.

He’s never short with Jess. He knows he’s a lucky bastard to have her in his life, must less in his bed. But it’s a testament to how bone tired Sam is that he says, “Just spit it out, Jess.”

“You could cam.”

Oh. He knows about camming. Not from having experienced it himself, but because on one drunken night when they were just getting to know each other, Jess had blurted out, “If I tell you something about me, will you promise not to look at me differently?”

The whole story had spilled out. The apartment and the cute little VW Bug. None of that was from her parents. They weren’t rich like Jess had never explicitly said yet let him believe. They lived in a split-level in Modesto. Instead, Jess had made that money taking her clothes off and doing Sam-didn’t-want-to-think-what-else on camera, in front of strangers, for money.

“I could never think differently of you,” he’d said that night. They were sitting on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, and he had his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in tight. “You did what you had to do. I know what that’s like.”

Jess must remember that night too, because now she echoes, “Baby. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.”

Sam’s mind is reeling. “But women…? Pay for that?”

Jess bites her lip. “Oh honey. Not women.”

Oh. And it must be because he’s so tired that his dick gives a twitch at that thought. Of guys. Watching him on camera. Doing what? He decides not to think that far. He needs to sleep. A Sam with his restful five hours behind him wouldn’t even be considering this.

“Baby, I gotta go to work,” he says instead. He leaves before she can say anything more.

()()()()()

“Simmons called out,” the store manager barks at Sam as he clocks in. “Gonna need you to unload the whole truck all by yourself.”

On most nights, Sam would sit back and take this. After all, unboxing pallets of Cap’n Crunch is a lot easier than digging graves, and a whole lot safer than confronting poltergeists.

But tonight. Something snaps. He has options.

“You know what?” Sam says. “I’m gonna need you to unload the whole truck all by _yourself_. I quit.”

Sam sleeps like an angel that night.

()()()()()

It doesn’t last. Sam is sure he failed his Constitutional Law mid-term, and he still takes his shift at the coffee shop. Sure, Jess said he could make more money in a few hours than he makes in weeks at his jobs, but who’s to say she’s right? And who would want to see some lanky guy like him get in front of a camera and… He doesn’t finish the thought.

He spends his shift accidentally squirting too many shots into frazzled students’ cups and barely earning enough tips to feed himself, much less pay Jess back for the rent she’s been spotting him. On the way out for the evening, he steps square into a spilled puddle of sticky mocha syrup and feels the sole of his last pair of sneakers rip away. Just great.

That night, when he’s finally home, he and Jess dance around each other like strangers. He knows she’s embarrassed by what she suggested, and he’s embarrassed too – but because he’s seriously considering taking her up on it.

When they’ve both brushed their teeth and are laying side by side in bed, Sam takes a deep breath.

“I’ll try it.”

Jess springs up. A huge smile on her face.

“Honey, you won’t be sorry.” She sits up in bed. “Ready to get started?”

“You mean… right now?”

“There’s no time like the present. You’re all showered and teeth-brushed. And it’s about to be the evening rush. Let’s get you started.”

And that’s how Sam finds himself sitting uneasily on the edge of the bed, as Jess repositions an umbrella light just right. He feels exposed, on display, and the webcam isn’t even on yet.

She’s made him an account and explains the basics. His “fans” (Sam swallows hard at the thought) give tokens, which will later be paid out as cold hard cash. Apparently new cam models get highlighted on the site, and so he’s sure to make some money tonight.

“Especially looking like you do,” Jess pats him on the cheek.

She shows him a few videos so he can get an idea of what to do. He reads the chats, too. A lot of praise, some trolls, lots of typical “comments on a porn site” type language. Lots of asking for more.

When they’re ready Jess asks seriously, “Do you want me to be here?”

Sam is absolutely mortified at the thought. But he can barely get a word out, so he just shakes his head.

“Okay, I’ll head over to the coffee shop for an hour or two, okay? Text me when you’re done.” Then she puts on her best imitation of a Groucho Marx voice, “Kid, they’re gonna love ya.”

Sam smiles a little at that.

When she’s gone, he stares at the camera for a while. All he has to do is push the big red, “Broadcast” button and he’ll be… camming.

“Guess I turned out to be the gigolo after all,” he thinks. Then he clicks the button.

()()()()()

Most of the time Dean doesn’t like bunking alone. He guesses that because he’s lived in Dad’s and- Dad’s pocket for so long that being alone just isn’t for him. Except right now. He’s been horny as hell all day and now that the “ghost” turned out to be just a newly divorced dude trying to get the new family to move out of his childhood home, he can stop for the night and unwind.

He considers trying his luck at the bars, but he knows from experience that women can sense when a guy just wants to get off and they flee like fish when a spiked hook drops in the water. So instead Dean just checks into a motel that advertises free internet, plugs in the laptop, and fishes around there instead.

Spiky energy zings through him as he visits his usual haunts. Busty Asian Beauties hasn’t been updated in a few days, and besides, that isn’t what he’s in the mood for. He’s about to close the laptop and try the porno channels when a pop up ad flashes in front of him.

“LIVE SEXXXXXX SHOW. Horny first-timers bare it all for the camera!!!!”

Why not? Dean clicks.

He’s taken to a page of profile pics. Women in various poses, wearing lingerie or strategically posed in nothing at all, each image leading to a room where said woman will take requests for money. Dean’s mouse hovers over a woman with dark hair sliding the strap of her red lingerie down her arm when something catches his eye.

“Into men instead?”

All right. So Dean’s feeling weird tonight. He clicks again.

This time it’s lots of washboard abs and bulges through boxer briefs. Dean’s eyes glaze over. What the fuck is he doing? He’s about to click back to the women until one fresh face with shaggy hair stands out.

Sam.

A banner at the bottom of his brother’s – his BROTHER’S – picture flashes with the words “New Model.”

With no conscious thought, Dean clicks into the room.

His brain has a lot of time to overheat as the video loads. Someone probably took Sam’s picture from somewhere. Maybe — his brain casts around for possibilities – one of those stupid amusement parks rides where they take your picture and try to sell it back to you. Of course, in his heart of hearts he knows there’s no way his little brother would be caught out in public in anything less than two shirts. But in this pic he had been shirtless. And, by the looks of his pecs, obviously keeping up with their Dad’s PT.

The video finally loads and there’s no more doubt.

His brother is there on the screen. Except the website says his name is “Tom.” He’s sitting on the edge of a made bed with a chevron patterned comforter. He’s clearly reading something off of the unseen screen in front of him, because then he opens his mouth to answer a question from the chat:

“Iowa. Originally from Iowa.”

Dean manages to tear his eyes off of Sam to look at the chat. There’s a lot of “Yum, a farm boy,” and “Didn’t know they made ‘em that big in Iowa. Is everything big?”

That sets the chat off.

_RimTimeTim: Is it?_

_OKCCummer: 100 tokens if you show us your dick right now_

Dean closes his eyes. But he can still hear Sam’s voice. His brother laughs nervously, and it’s such a familiar sound that Dean’s stomach drops.

“Um… I guess it’s big.”

He watches Sam read the chat off his screen. He’s disgusted – and something else – seeing all these horny strangers, probably from all over the world, asking his shirtless brother to whip it out.

He should close the window. Toss the laptop in the bathtub and set fire to it. Drive to Palo Alto and demand to know what exactly they allow their students to get up to in their spare time.

But he continues to watch.

Sam’s saying, “Um… so my girlfriend told me that I should wait until I have one thousand tokens before I um…”

The chat lights up again.

_BadProf: goddddd he’s adorable_

_OKCCummer: gf ya rite ur kidding urself twink_

_RimTimeTim: the things I would do to this farm boy_

_696969: show usss your hole!!!111_

At the side of the screen, the number of tokens is increasing by the second. 700, 750, 800…

Dean’s seen Sam naked a thousand times. He’s changed Sam’s diapers, goddammit. This shouldn’t be… a thing for him. But he finds himself holding his breath as the number of tokens ticks up.

“Wow that’s a lot of tokens really fast,” Sam is saying. “Nine hundred and fifty. Um. Wow.”

One thousand.

_OKCCummer: 1 thousand bitch_

_OKCCummer: take it out_

Oh, and once he leaves Stanford – preferably with Sam safe at his side – Dean’s going to Oklahoma City to wrench this particular guy’s dick off. Slowly.

But his eyes, as always, are drawn inexorably back to Sam.

His brother is blushing bright red. It makes him look like a kid again. More of a kid.

“I’ve never… taken it out for a guy before,” he stammers. “Well, guys.”

Nothing could have set the chat off more.

_FappingJoe58: ur a virgen goddamn_

_Pussyh8tr: wanna smell it_

_696969: show us your hole!!!!111_

And one that has Dean narrowing his eyes:

_OKCCummer: hes lyin  
OKCCummer: I kno a slut when I c one_

But back on the screen, Sam is fumbling with the zip on his jeans.

If Dean didn’t know his brother better, he’d think his brother was doing this on purpose, to prolong the anticipation. And the token counter seems to agree. It’s up to 1,300 already.

Finally, Sam gets his zipper down. Dean watches as he reaches a big hand into his boxers.

“Y’all ready?” He says to the camera. Dean knows Sam. Knows he’s buying time, not teasing. But the chat goes wild while the token count continues to climb. God, his brother is a natural at this.

Meanwhile, Dean’s hand is on his own dick and he’s not sure when it got there.

On the screen, Sam finally reaches in and frees his cock.

And he’s hard.

Oh fuck.

“You getting off on this, Sammy?” Dean thinks.

Sam holds his cock by the base, then seems to change his mind and nudges his jeans down on his hips a little, like a perfect showcase for a perfect creation.

And just like that, Dean is creaming in his jeans.

Fuck. Fuck.

The token counter is over 3,000 now. And Dean should close to the window before this gets worse. Before he does worse. But he can’t help himself. He types his first sentence into the chat.

_Impala67: r u doing this bcs you need money_

Sam is biting his lip bashfully at some of the chats about his length and girth and… prettiness. But Dean sees the moment when Sam reads his comment. Sees the sea change on his brother’s face.

“I gotta go,” his brother says, suddenly breathless. And the video goes black.

()()()()()

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Just turning the camera off isn’t enough. Sam unplugs it. When even that isn’t enough, he flees the scene of the crime altogether, retreating to their small en suite bathroom where he sits on the closed toilet lid, elbows on his knees.

The enormity of what he just did washes over him.

He feels dirty. Wants to take a shower. But, equally, he wants to stay fully dressed. He pulls a t-shirt from the basket of clean laundry over his head. And then a flannel.

Impala67. Was it…?

Sam just sits for a while.

It couldn’t have been. Dean’s not tech savvy. There’s no way he could have somehow found out Sam was camming when just two hours ago even Sam himself didn’t know he was going to try it. Other excuses parade through his head. The ’67 Impala is a popular model. And so what if the guy’s question had been a little different from all the other horny assholes in the chat? Occasionally, growing up, Sam and Dean had both come across “responsible grownups” who thought they could “save” them. Why should some cam website be any different?

Some do-gooder. Probably some youth pastor with one hand down his pants while telling himself he’s fighting the good fight. That’s all it was.

Only when Sam has calmed himself down enough about the thought of Dean – his brother – witnessing his… display does Sam have time to do the conversion in his head.

He’s made enough in a little over an hour than he would have made at his jobs for the rest of the month.

()()()()()

“What the fuck were you thinking, son?”

Dean knows Dad would shake him if he didn’t think it might hurt him even more. Normally Dad was the one to make the risky plays, but this time Dean had decided that they could take a whole werewolf pack at once, though the gash down the outside of his thigh now tells a different story.

“I’m serious,” John Winchester presses. “Where’s your head at? This is how you become dog food, Dean.”

To tell the truth, Dean’s head hasn’t been in the job since nearly two months ago when he saw Sam’s… When he saw Sam.

Without really considering why he did it, Dean filled out some extra credit card applications without Dad’s approval and had them sent to his secret PO Box in Overland Park because he knows Dad hates crossing to that side of the Kansas border. If Sam needs money, he doesn’t have to earn it this way. And if he isn’t doing it for money, well… That doesn’t bear thinking about.

From time to time he logs on to the site where he saw Sam. But now Sam’s picture and name are way far down at the bottom, and a little indicator tells him that Sam has been inactive for days, weeks, then “over a month.” Good. If that really was Sam’s first time, maybe he’s not planning on making a career out of whatever the hell that was.

Still, he’d clicked the little plus sign to get an alert whenever Sam appeared again.

Now, resting in their latest motel, a towel under his bandaged leg, he just happens to check his email. The alert is there.

“Sam is back online.”

Dean listens. Dad’s showers are always military quick, but the water is still running for now. He hunts and pecks for his password as quickly as he’s ever typed anything in his life, and when the video loads he sees Sam in the same bedroom with the chevron patterned comforter. His brother is just in aqua blue boxer briefs with a black band now, and the sight has Dean twitching to half hardness. But he’s not going to think about that.

The chat is a chorus of: “Welcome back!” “Farm boy!” and “Where u been u like to tease donchu?”

“I was uh… busy with you know… college stuff,” Sam says to the camera. “But I’m here now.”

In the other room, the water shuts off.

On the screen, Sam begins to slide his boxers, seductive-slow, down his hip bones.

Not a thing could tear Dean’s eyes away from the laptop screen now.

Except the sound of John Winchester opening the bathroom door.

Fuck.

Frustrated, Dean clicks out of the room then closes the laptop.

()()()()()

He and Jess haven’t really talked about it much.

One of the few things she had said after his first time was, “Yeah, you get some weirdos.” And he’d let her think that’s why he’d decided not to cam again, even as he felt incredibly guilty continuing to let her pay more than her share of the rent. He’d even managed to beg for his old job at Albertsons back, citing school stress for his outburst.

And he wasn’t lying to his old boss either. Finals are coming up in two weeks and his professors are piling it on more than ever.

One morning, after Sam has pulled an all-nighter, an actual sunbeam penetrates the blinds and lights up the webcam with an angelic glow. Sam notices it and rolls his eyes, even though Jess is already in her morning class and there’s no one there to see. Like, is this an actual sign from God that he could make his life a little easier if he just tried camming again?

That first night back isn’t as bad, even though he goes farther than just showing himself. Sure, he still feels a little shaky and gross after it’s over, but at least there are no longer any youth pastor do-gooder assholes in there trying to make inquiries about his well-being.

Nope, most of the time all Sam had to deal with was a bunch of horny guys asking him to do increasingly bizarre things. So far, he’s been able to stave them off. …Even the guy who keeps insisting Sam come all over Jess’s salvia plant.

She would literally kill him.

He finally starts moving the plant outside before a session, but then of course the guy just wants him to come in Jess’s underwear drawer. Jesus. There really must be bored out there in Oklahoma City.

Much to his eternal detriment, he always reads every line of the chat. Tonight will be Sam’s fifth time camming and Impala67 has yet to make another appearance. Which obviously proves his youth pastor theory right. Obviously.

He no longer has the “New Model” banner, there are fewer new people in his room now, and wow, so this is what it feels like to be washed up at twenty.

His room now is a mix of new people, one-offs (like Impala67 apparently), and hopeful regulars. He’s always very clear about how far he’s willing to go, yet people like OKCCummer seem to tune into him like he’s a favorite TV show and maybe this time he’ll take things one step further.

A couple of people have asked if he has a private cam room. But it hasn’t come to that yet.

Still, rent’s due. And, after doing some research, Sam has an idea on how to pay both his and Jess’s share of the rent and take her out for their anniversary, too.

He waits until Jess is out for Tequila Thursday with her girls. She leaves him with just a pat on the cheek and doesn’t ask questions. Being with Jess is restful that way.

Fully dressed, Sam sets up the laptop and webcam on the clothes hamper in their bathroom.

It never changes – the nervousness while he waits for the little numbers to count down. But it does get more familiar.

“Hi,” he says, as his regulars crop up. “Rent’s due and my boyfriend’s…” Boyfriend? Sure. Sam quickly learned to give the people what they want. “…Well he’s going to spank me if I don’t pay my half.”

The chat erupts at that, mostly requests to witness the imaginary spanking.

“I told you guys,” Sam begins unbuttoning his flannel. “He doesn’t like me doing this. He’s going to make me stop unless I can prove to him that it’s a real job.”

_FappinJoe58: Ill give u a job_

_OKCCummer: U can choke on my dick all day_

_OKCCummer: Tie u up in my basemint_

And like clockwork, there are Sam’s regulars. Yeah, he doesn’t love reading comments like that, but OKC is also his “Top Fan” by far, and that’s what’s kept Sam from hitting the ban button. Even though it’s been a close thing.

Impala67 never showed back up. Sam doesn’t even scan every single name for him anymore.

“So, I’m thinking…” Sam continues. He stretches to finish shrugging off the flannel, lets his t-shirt ride up to expose his hipbone and a strip of skin. “…That if I can pay rent this month, he’ll get off my…” Sam turns around. They love this shit. “…My ass.”

He flashes them momentarily, then covers back up.

“But I gotta get rent money,” he tells the camera seriously. “Five thousand tokens.”

_696969: Skammer. Jus show us your hole_

_McQueensBoy: Hes worth it_

_OKCCummer: Were u live rent costs that much  
OKCCummer: ???_

“I-“ Sam catches himself. OKC tries this a lot, getting Sam to reveal new information about himself. “Nice try. I live in an expensive Coastal North American City.”

_OKCCummer: I wudnt make u pay rent_

Creepy. But Sam plasters on a smile. “I know you wouldn’t. You’re so good to me. But anyway... five thousand tokens and I’ll take a shower.”

_FappinJoe58: Wash al ur parts?_

“All of ‘em.”

The numbers start ticking up, but not fast enough. Sam’s become seasoned enough at this by now. Once he’s out of his t-shirt, he begins rubbing himself through his jeans.

The numbers climb faster when he repositions the webcam to show his audience the shape of his cock through the denim.

Still, he’s nowhere near the five thousand tokens he needs.

Sam reads the chat pensively. There are a few comments of “I got my own rent to pay.” And “Get in the shower already.”

Sam’s considering backing down and just providing the shower show anyway when a huge tip suddenly sends the tokens over the top.

_OKCCummer: 5k bitch do it_

_Impala67: Watch ur mouth OKC_

Sam freezes.

_OKCCummer: Fuck u im payin his rent can tell him however_

_Impala67: ull be sorry_

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sam says. And he realizes his hands are up in a placating gesture just like when he’s actually defusing a fight between two drunks (usually his father and some mouth breather who didn’t see the hustle coming) at some back roads Wyoming bar.

But what the fuck is he going to do? If Impala67 really is his brother… But the thought is just too ridiculous to fathom. How would his brother have found him? Dean’s not gay. Sam has seen evidence of that with his own two eyes. So many times.

_OKCCummer: Fuck u man  
OKCCummer: u promised us a shower tom_

Sam hesitates. He could take the money and run, but that would be the last time he could ever show up on a cam again. He’d be blacklisted. On the other hand, what if - and the chances of this are lower than getting struck by lightning or hitting the SuperLotto - what if it is Dean?

Suddenly he’s straining against his jeans.

He thought he’d put all this behind him. But suddenly he’s 15 again and he’s clenching his teeth to stop from making a single sound as he eases himself out of boxers. Dean is in the other motel bed, shirtless, flawless, and if Sam doesn’t get to trace a finger down the perfect dip of his brother’s lower back he thinks he might scream. Instead, like so many other nights, he cleans himself up with scratchy Dairy Queen napkins, miserable, while his brother sleeps on. Innocent.

It’s best he left.

But if thinking this might be Dean - watching him, liking it - helps him get through this mortifying shower in front of a bunch of strangers on the internet, well - he looks straight at the camera, and imagines his brother.

()()()()()

“I worked out before this,” Sam says on the laptop screen. In a move out of Dean’s own playbook, he appears to have decided to ignore the two people fighting in the chat. Instead, he flashes one of his shy Sammy smiles, “Believe me, you don’t want to be here right now. I’m all sweaty.”

_696969: Would 2_

_OKCCummer: Lick u cleen_

“Well, I’d appreciate that. But my boyfriend makes me stay squeaky clean.”

Dean knows, the way he’s always been able to read Sammy, not to mention by the fact that his brother mentioned a girlfriend in his first cam show, that this “boyfriend” is an affectation. A boogeyman to give all the guys in the chat some hope of “saving” Sam.

Dean has to tip his hat to his little brother. It’s a good scam. Maybe Sam hasn’t forgotten everything he learned from Dean after all.

On screen, his brother is repositioning the camera to provide a wider angle of the shower.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Sam says into the camera. And again, Dean knows he’s being truthful. Before Dean can think better of it, he hits the button to donate more money.

Sam appears to notice the counter tick up, and smiles. “Thanks,” he says into the camera. And, as awkward as it is, it feels like the first interaction they’ve had in two years.

Damn, Dean misses him.

Sam then winks at the camera. “I promise I’ll make it really good.”

And just like that, Dean feels something else about him, too.

Still, Dean sits with his hands primarily by his sides as he watches on-screen Sam slowly undress. Of course the chat explodes, Dean is strangely proud when the newcomers begin to exclaim over the size and girth of Sam’s dick.

_LonelyPrairie: Fuck a double fistful_

_OKCCummer: Ima choke on that 1 day_

But Sam isn’t reading the chat. He’s fully naked now, and steps into the shower cabinet. When the first spurt of cold water hits him, his brother gasps. His nipples stiffen and his whole long, lanky body erupts in goosebumps.

On his motel bed, Dean squirms.

Sam’s cock had been hard when he first undressed, but the cold water must have affected that, too.

“That’s no good,” he says. Now, in profile to the camera, Sam looks over at them and begins pinching his nipple between two fingers.

Dean hears a small gasp, and as the water laps over Sam, leaving him sloppy and wet, his brother begins to stiffen again.

_FappinJoe58: Thats wat he likes_

_OKCCummer: hel like what I give him better_

But by now Sam isn’t paying any attention to the camera. He has a bar of white soap now, and is literally cleaning himself.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I was dirty,” he says. He affects a little moan. “This feels so much better.”

Dean watches his brother soap up his pecs. This should be cheesy. But Sam is fully hard again, and Dean’s been that way for quite some time now.

On the screen, his brother leans out of the shower to check the chat. He’s completely soaked now, all that floppy hair dripping on the floor in that typical Sam way.

_6969696: show usss your hole!!!111_

And this time Sam does.

Oh shit. The people in the room next door liikely hear Dean’s heavy breathing, and he one hundred percent does not give a fuck when he watches his brother on a small latop screen spread his asscheeks apart like the world’s most enticing invitation.

Watching Sam, Dean can practically feel what it would be like. The knifeblade of his brother’s hipbone under his palm, the sweat slick between their two bodies, the battle, the give and the sweet, sweet clutch.

Why had he never…?

“I’m going to hell. I’m going to hell.” He thinks. But - he fists his cock - heaven first.

()()()()()

He’s finally given in to his old pal “6969696” and “showed his hole!!!111.” But it was easier to expose himself like that, when he was too far away, and too literally wet, to read the chat afterward.

This way, all he has to do is think about Dean. Dean watching him through a laptop screen. Or, better yet, Dean’s fingers opening him up. Dean inspecting him, and finding him worthy. Dean’s cock, pushing inside him. The sounds his brother would make, working behind him. His hip bones crushed in Dean’s calloused hands. For just a little while, narrowing the entire world down to Sam and Dean and nothing else.

He mouths his brother’s name when he comes across his knuckles in front of the camera, with water still streaming down his body.

But who is he kidding. Nobody was looking at his mouth.

When he comes down, he realizes the water’s gone cold. As he wraps himself in one of Jess’s flower towels, the chat seems happy. More tokens have been added to his total. But when he goes back to look, he finds that Impala67 has left the chat already.

Oh.

Of course it wasn’t Dean. What was he thinking? Now that his orgasm has subsided and the water is all gurgling down the drain he realizes he’s never been so clean, and never felt so dirty.

()()()()()

There’s a bar across the parking lot from his motel room and Dean shakily makes his way there. He never even goes inside. Two women, a little older than he usually goes for, are standing outside smoking. It’s easy enough to split them up, lead one of them - he didn’t get a name - back across the lot, shove the laptop in the drawer, guilty, like it’s a murder weapon, then lay her down.

()()()()()

At his and Jess’s anniversary dinner that next week - the one where Sam is proud to take care of the check - it occurs to Sam that Jess is the only person in his life who has known him for more than a year and has never asked him to backfill red clay into a grave or research whether rocksalt will fend off a Nunnehi gone bad.

It’s nice. Having a friend.

But when they get home that night he looks up at her riding him, traces a sweat-curled lock of hair down to her nipple, and thinks about Dean.

()()()()()

In the liminal space between spring and summer semester, the cam site Sam uses sends him an email. Subject line: “Reward your Top Fans.”

Inside are some eyebrow-raising suggestions on how to - and Sam’s just reading between the lines here - milk more money out of the Top 10 people who have already dropped a chunk of change in exchange for you dropping your pants.

Sam glances down at the list of usernames of his “Top Fans.” Then stops. Yes, the usual suspects are there, 696969, RimTimeTim and the creepy OKCCummer.

But his top fan is Impala67.

“What is it?” Jess asks. She’s on the bed, reading a book propped against her knees while Sam sits at the desktop.

“What what?”

“You just gasped.”

What’s he supposed to say? “I think my brother might be watching me cam? And every nerve ending in my body lights up when I think about it?”

So he just tells her, “My bad. Email from Camland with my payout for this month. I’m still just surprised that people actually want to pay for,” he gestures down at this body, “This.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Winchester.” In the early days of his camming, a conversation like this might have gone somewhere sexier, but now Jess just winks at him and goes back to her book, leaving Sam to double check the list to make sure he’s reading it right.

Impala67 has given him the most tokens. By far.

Sam licks over his chapped lips. Imagines what might happen if he actually took some of the email’s ridiculous suggestions into account.

“Make him feel special. Remember his name and what he likes.”

As if Sam could forget.

“Invite him into a private room. Then show him just why you’re the model who can make all his wildest dreams (and filthiest fantasies) come to life.”

Except Sam isn’t Lithuanian identical twins so that hardly seems possible. Unless…

()()()()()

One of the weirdest things about camming is how little cumulative time he actually spends with his cock out.

One night, in a room full of just his regulars, they actually end up chatting about the upcoming NFL draft. It isn’t his most lucrative night, but Sam makes enough to top off his rent payment just by agreeing with RimTimeTim that Penn State is going to lead in first round picks. Because of course they are.

But hosting Sports Center hasn’t exactly been his goal lately. As he idly watches the chat, sometimes responding back, sometimes letting the guys argue it out, he’s always keeping watch for one particular username.

Sam’s opinion of these guys (except OKC, if he’s honest) has changed since he started. They’re not so bad. One night, they’re just chatting again. It’s Friday night and Sam and Jess would normally be spending that together, but they’ve agreed to try and take a trip this summer - a real couple’s vacation. On an airplane and everything. Sam still marvels at how different his life looks from six months ago when he was working two jobs and still not making his share of the rent.

The topic is hometowns. Sam recognizes it for what it is. OKC’s thinly veiled attempt to find out where Sam is. Turns out RimTimeTIm is from a town just outside Harrisburg where Sam’s dad once thwarted a poltergeist and he nearly bites his tongue after he says, “Oh yeah, I’ve been there.”

_RimTimeTim: Why on earth would anybody come here if they didn’t have to?_

Sam clears his throat, trots out his old chestnut. “My dad was a salesman.”

_RimTimeTim: Here? What? He sell meth?_

Sam laughs, but it’s bitter. His past, getting dragged from motor inn to motor lodge isn’t exactly who he wants to think about right now. And of course that’s when he glances up and sees that Impala67 logged in a few minutes back.

“Something like that,” is all Sam replies.

_OKCCummer: U guys ever go to OKC_

“Probably,” Sam says vaguely now. Acutely aware of Impala67’s presence. “I don’t really remember.” If he really is Dean, and Sam still doesn’t truly think he is, then he’s probably cursing at the screen right now at Sam giving away details of their life, no matter how hard they would be to trace.

_OKCCummer: I can tell wen u lie_

He thinks again about banning OKC. But, as they’ve done many times, the other guys in the chat come to his rescue. Except his “Top Fan” Impala67, who by Sam’s count has typed exactly three sentence fragments into the chat the entire time Sam’s been camming. Not that Sam needs rescuing.

_RimTimeTim: Srsly OKC shut up_

Letting the chat go on without him for a minute, Sam opens another beer.

_RimTimeTim: Who was your first love Tom?_

“Whoa,” Sam’s laugh feels more genuine now. “There’s not enough tokens in this world to get me to tell that secret.”

The username Impala67 still hovers on the right hand sidebar. Still listening and watching.

_RimTimeTime: I bet it was like last year, kiddo_

“Nah,” he says. “It was a lot longer ago than that.”

_Dean, maybe sixteen, next to him in the Impala’s front seat, steering with one wrist. The other arm out the window, palm wide and fingers splayed, catching the world in his left hand._

Then a new chat appears.

_Impala67: who was it_

Sam’s mind flashes to the email. _“Invite him into a private room. Then show him just why you’re the model who can make all his wildest dreams (and filthiest fantasies) come to life.”_

He hesitates, then chugs his entire beer. “I uh… I think it’s time for another one for me.”

He pops out to the kitchen. Spends a too-long time staring at the magnets on the fridge. All Jess’s. Places she’s been. The Hollywood sign. The Vegas Strip. Joshua Trees.

And suddenly he sees it as plain as if he’s time traveled. Their fridge one day. A magnet from their upcoming Seattle trip. Maybe Hawaii for their honeymoon. The Grand Canyon with the kids.

Sam made his choice two years ago.

Impala67 is not Dean. Of course he knows it’s not. But.

He goes back to his room and clicks on Impala67’s name. Then he sends the link to their own private room.

Later he won’t remember what he tells the guys, but it’ll be goodbye all the same. They’re good guys, for the most part. Maybe a little lonely. And okay, sometimes fairly creepy. He wishes them well, like the hundreds of other people he’s met on the road for a few days or a handful of months.

“It was somebody I grew up with,” Sam says, without preamble, when they’re both logged into the private room.

_Impala67: iowa?_

“Kind of all over the place, actually.”

He waits, but there’s no reply. If it were Dean, he can imagine his brother stopped somewhere along a wide spot in a highway. It’s called the Buccaneer Inn or the Acorn Motel. Neon’s blinking, on and off again, casting colors across the floor. The TV’s padlocked to a hook in the wall.

Finally:

_Impala67: what was he like_

Now Sam hesitates. “You sure you want an answer to that question? Not sure that’s what this…” He gestures vaguely, “...is all about.”

The answer comes quicker this time.

_Impala67: yes_

Sam hasn’t spoken to Dean in fourteen months and eleven days. For all he knows his brother is dead. Still.

“He was… Goofy. And hot. Like, he got hotter every day. And he knew it, too. It was- I couldn’t stand it, after awhile. And he was… Well mostly he was loyal. Mainly that. Which I don’t think I appreciated. Well I didn’t appreciate it until it was too late and he was already gone.”

He’s rambling, he knows. The reply takes a few moments. Sam’s holding his breath.

_Impala67: he left u?_

It’s not Dean. He knows it isn’t. But if it were...

Sam takes a beat.

“We couldn’t have been together.”

There’s another torturous pause.

()()()()()

In Hibbing, Minnesota, safely ensconced in his room at the Wild Rose Motor Inn, Dean has to hunt for each letter to painstakingly peck out:

_Why did you go?_

Then he quickly presses the backspace key until all of his weakness is erased to wherever useless words go and he’s faced again with only a blinking cursor.

()()()()()

Sam’s holding his breath. Finally, a new chat appears on the screen.

_Impala67: what would you want him to do to u_

()()()()()

In Hibbing, Minnesota, it’s easier this way.

()()()()()

At his computer desk, Sam swallows.

How foolish he’d been. How ridiculous. Of course it isn't Dean. And here this whole time, Sam was secretly pitying the guys who logged into his cam shows. Thinking with their dicks. Thinking that they and Sam might be together someday. When really that's all Sam’s been doing, isn’t it? Projecting all that fucked up longing on some stranger with good taste in muscle cars and some spare change.

Sam chugs half his new beer.

Well fuck it.

“I never got that far. It was uh… it was too fucked up to think about.”

_Impala67: that was 2 fucked up but not this?_

“Okay. Touche. A different kind of fucked up.”

Sam has to pause and think. It’s harder here, than in the chat when the other guys do half his work for him.

“You gotta tell me what you like.”

_Impala67: I like what u like_

Sam shakes his head. “You know what, man? I don’t even know what I like anymore.”

_Impala67: do what u want_

Sam stands up. Rummages in one of the drawers and finds the dildo Jess used on him on that one wild night.

“Like with this?”

_Impala67: If thats what u want_

Maybe it’s the beer. Maybe it’s the recklessness of knowing this is his last day.

“I’m serious, man. You’re my Top Fan,” He makes finger quotes when he says the ridiculous term for person-who-dropped-a-shit-load-of-money-on-me. “You’ve paid my rent, but you barely say anything to me. I’m not that good looking, man. I thought you might…” He trails off.

_Impala67: what_

_Impala67: ?_

“I thought you might be him.” Sam barks a bitter laugh at himself. “Stupid, huh?”

No chat appears, though the username, Impala67, remains, implacable, in the sidebar.

Sam bites his lip. Slides out of the desk chair and onto the edge of the bed to give his Top Fan, whoever he is, a better view.

Slips his hand below his waistband.

“I used to think about him and do this.” He palms himself inside his basketball shorts. His audience of one can see very little and he kind of doesn’t care. “While he was in the other bed.” The thought sizzles, dirty, straight to his dick and he gives himself a hard squeeze.

“I have no idea how he couldn’t have known. He probably did. But he didn’t know I was thinking about him...” Sam gives himself a lazy tug. “...When I was doing it.”

Sam’s leaned into the monologue aspect of camming now, and is surprised when a new chat appears on the screen.

_Impala67: maybe u shud have said something_

Sam’s voice comes out more bitter than he means it to. “That wouldn’t have gone over well. He’s an All-American Male.”

()()()()()

Alone and halfway down the road to whiskey-drunk in his motel room, Dean hits the “enter” key before he can regret it.

()()()()()

_Impala67: show me what u did when you thought about him_

So Sam shows him.

While his brother is probably off God-knows-where fighting who-knows-what Hellbeast, Sam gives a stranger a peek into the darkest corner of his fucked up heart.

And afterward, when he’s spent, panting as his heartbeat stutters and slows back down to normal, he notices 10,000 new tokens.

One final chat message appears on the screen.

_Impala67: I just want you to be happy_

But Impala67 is gone. It feels like goodbye.

()()()()()

The next time Sam sees Dean, they’ll stop at a truck stop to break up the drive and just outside Fresno he’ll pick out the tackiest Yosemite magnet he can find to bring back to Jess. Dean will tease him about spending their limited cash, and remind him that he could have just pocketed the damn thing without the station attendant being any the wiser. Shoplifting is one of many skills Dean taught him that he doesn’t practice anymore, and just one more thing they’ll argue about, on that trip.

Past sunset, on their way back to Palo Alto, as Dean watches the 2-lane highway, Sam will stare at the mathematically perfect way his brother’s neck curves into his shoulder and how his shoulders bear the weight of the world, and every demon Sam thought he exorcised on that buckwild Friday night over a year ago, in a private room, with his camming top fan, will come screaming back.

Sam will open his mouth to ask. And close it again.

It’s better this way.

**Author's Note:**

> I've seriously lost my writing mojo over the past few months so comments and kudos are much appreciated. Or find me on Tumblr [@Crooked-Sleep](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/crooked-sleep).


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